


All That I Am

by bretelgeuse



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6660601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bretelgeuse/pseuds/bretelgeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wouldn't even call him a super hero. In the mythology of his country, he's not a super hero. He's a warrior, and it's part of their tradition. It's not like, ‘Who is that masked guy that's doing this stuff?’ Everybody knows it's him, and they expect that it's him, and they pray to God, or even him in some cases, that he would do the things that he's doing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I Am

“Hell of a gig, huh? This superhero thing?”

Had he not literally been on the verge of passing out where he stood, T’Challa would have said something. What he would have said wasn’t exactly clear - his mind was too foggy, too exhausted, to completely done with everything to conjure up the proper retort - but it was, he thought, something along the lines of “that’s what they tell me” or, perhaps, the ruder option of “Please shut up.” But, as it did turn out, he was on the verge of passing out. As it also turned out, the last person on this planet T'Challa wanted to be rude to was Sam Wilson. So while he trudged through Sam’s home, T’Challa opted for silence. Collapsing onto his boyfriend’s mattress was the only goal, and no amount of poorly assigned titles would get in the way of that.

Once wrapped in blankets he wrapped a leg around Sam’s waist, snuggling closer.

Five hours of dealing with a man and his strange affinity for reptiles took its toll.

T'Challa tucked Sam’s head under his chin, and hummed deeply, a muffled "Fuckin' cats." carrying him to sleep.

*

The second time it happened, T’Challa was too preoccupied with the woman trying to kill him to bother getting into the long winded discussion he’d not so cleverly been avoiding for over two weeks now. And counting.

“People really don’t get the whole ‘don’t fuck with superheros” thing.” Sam’s voice came through their shared comm.

T'Challa ducked, swung, ducked again. "Neither do you."

Sam laughed loudly and it was enough to dissuade T’Challa from pushing the subject. Besides, he had to do something about the gun pointed at his head.

*

The third time it happened, T’Challa just didn’t think it would be appropriate to correct Sam - not when he had just had a young girl beaming up at "him, Mom! The Falcon!"

She had darted off eventually, hugging a stuffed bird to her chest, dark curls bouncing with each skip and Sam grinned so brightly T’Challa didn’t think he could forgive himself if he were the person to take that joy away on a technicality.

"Hell of a reason right there to be doing the superhero thing.” Sam said when they continued on their trek to caffeine.

“Her role models are limited. She couldn’t have chosen a better one than you.” T’Challa commented absent mindedly.

“Yeah.” Sam exhaled, then grinned. “Hell yeah. You gonna get me going on this topic again, man? Really?”

T’Challa smiled.

The next two hours were spent discussing how there could never be enough black role models, let alone ones that were superheros. T’Challa was more than inclined to agree.

For the most part.

*

“Hey you.” Sam wrapped his arms around T‘Challa’s neck, chin resting on his temple.

“Hello me.” T’Challa murmured back, eyes glued to the laptop set in front of him, scrolling down the article taking up the entirety of his internet browser. He was nearly cringing the words before him.

Renowned superhero the Black Panther -

“Hungry?” Sam asked, head tilting down just enough to kiss T’Challa’s hair.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If we’re having soup or not.”

Sam chuckled. “I got you, baby. What kind of soup?”

T’Challa muttered about a page marked in a cookbook, then sighed, leaning back in his chair to stare at the journalistic mess in front of him.

Renowned superhero the Black Panther...

“You helping?” Sam asked.

“Of course.”

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

T’Challa tilted his head back, eyes going shut. Of course Sam had noticed. Sam - wonderful, understanding, patient Sam - stayed exactly where he was wrapped around T’Challa, pressing soft kisses to T’Challa’s head.

Renowned superhero.

Eventually, his shoulders relaxed, tension slipping under the magic of Sam’s kisses. 

“Superhero.” T’Challa huffed.

Sam nodded. “That’s what they call us.”

Yes.

Yes it was.

“It’s what they call me.” T’Challa grumbled, closing the laptop.

Sam leant back, arms still loosely wrapped around him. “It’s what you are.”

And there it was. The problem.

It was mostly certainly a cultural difference at play, but, as it was, T’Challa couldn’t call himself a superhero. Some days he wasn’t so sure it was fair to call Sam one either. Sam was so much and T’Challa couldn’t bare to boil him down to one simple, poor idea.

Abruptly, he stood, movements sending Sam back a step in surprise.

“I am not a superhero in Wakanda.”

And he turned and there - there was Sam. Standing, staring, watching and listening intently. He knew this was important, even if he had no idea what was even being discussed.

“I am a warrior, Samuel.” he exhaled.

Sam nodded, slowly, stance relaxing. “So what’s that mean? How’s that make you different?”

There was no doubt T’Challa could be in love with this man.

“It means trust. People can sit around wishing a hero is going to fall out of the sky and save them, but in Wakanda the people can know I will. They expect it.”

Sam waited.

T’Challa made a vague hand motion. Permission for Sam to speak.

“Nice little monologue." Sam smiled. "Ten out of ten.”

It had never taken much for Sam to drag a smile out of T’Challa, and now was no exception.

“So... a warrior?”

“Essentially.” T’Challa glanced away for a moment. “I hold you to the same standard.”

Sam grinned brightly. “I’m flattered.”

“... I suppose You should be.”

Sam took a step forward, hands searching for T’Challa’s. “You know we can’t do much to stop them from calling you that.”

T’Challa leaned forwards, forehead finding Sam’s shoulder to hide his face out of sight. “I know.”

Sam’s arm wound around his waist. “Don’t know if it’ll help man, but I’ll stop calling you that. Start thinking of you how you want to be thought of. Think I even get it, why it matters so much.”

Yes.  
T'Challa was definitely in love with this man.

“I know you do. I’ve been called worse than a superhero. But, first and foremost…”

Sam tilted his head, cheek pressed to T’Challa’s hair. “I understand.”

“You are a warrior too, Samuel.”

Sam grinned, pulling T’Challa flush against him. “Yeah. I s’pose I am.”


End file.
